Tony Hawks bids farewell to Ireland and I look up expectantly for my free book to drop out of the heavens. Nothing. Feeling a little bit miffed at the Cosmic Ordering Service I resort to leafing through the only other book that I brought from England. It is called Travel Writing by L Peat O’Neil. I bought it whilst I was still at work, when the idea of writing about my gap year was developing. The book has a 5 star rating on Amazon, albeit that only one person has reviewed it. ‘A very useful addition to any budding travel writer’s library,’ said ‘A Customer’ (aka L Peat O’Neil’s literary agent). Still, it was enough endorsement for me. I would study L Peat O’Neil’s advice during my last month or so at work and hit the ground running as the budding travel writer.
Except I didn’t. Here I was, half way through my gap year and opening the book for the first time. I scanned it for tips on what I should have been doing on my travels.
‘A travel writer must talk to strangers,’ advises Ms O’Neil. I look about and realise I’m surrounded by strangers. There’s a middle aged couple a few rows back who don’t look very happy with each other. I reckon that if I can get them talking to me all kinds of revelations could be made. A sort of Jeremy Kyle show on rails. Sadly, I don’t have the courage to approach them and opt for a maxim of my own – keep it simple. I turn to the girl next door –
‘Emily, what’s the most exciting thing that has happened to you on your travels?’
‘Gosh. That’s a tough question. Exciting? Well, as I have said I’m on my way home from Malaysia. On the way there the plane to Adelaide was delayed by 4 hours. It was late when I got to the airport and as my flight was very early the next morning I thought I’d sleep at the airport. I’d got settled when the security guard approached and said the airport closed at 11pm and I had to leave.’
‘Right,’ I say, not quite sure where this was going.
‘There was another woman there, so I told her what was happening. There was one last shuttle bus into Adelaide if we were quick,’ continued Emily. ‘She said she was on the same plane as me but she didn’t have any money. I told her it was on me and we got ourselves into Adelaide, found a hostel and shared a room for the night.’
‘Which you paid for?’
‘Yes. Eighty dollars. I was ripped off but didn’t have a choice. Then things got worse.’
‘What happened?’ I was getting engrossed in Emily’s story.
‘The woman set the alarm on her phone, but it didn’t go off. We woke up with just 25 minutes to spare until my plane took off.’
Good grief! Dan Brown would be pleased with the tension Emily is building up.
‘We got dressed quickly, found a taxi and told him to step on it. “No worries,” he said and then proceeded to keep well under the speed limit.
‘We arrived at the airport just as the plane was boarding. Only, it wasn’t my plane. The woman was on that plane but I’d made a mistake. Mine didn’t leave for another 45 minutes.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, a tad disappointed with this ending.
‘When I got to Malaysia I was supposed to meet my friend, Jenny, but she didn’t turn up to meet me.’
This is more like it. We’re off again.
‘I waited for an hour but there was no sign of her. Jenny had made all the arrangements for our stay in Malaysia. Without her I didn’t know what to do.’
‘My goodness. What happened?’
‘I went to the hostel Jenny was staying at, but she had checked out! The receptionist searched for her but Jenny had left.’
‘So, you’re stuck in Malaysia with no idea where your friend is and where you are meant to go next?’
‘Exactly. But the receptionist did find Jenny’s lap top. I knew that she would come back for it so I waited. Sure enough, about an hour later Jenny turned up at the hostel. She had got my arrival time wrong. We must have just missed each other at the airport’
‘Wow. That’s some story,’ I say appreciatively.
L Peat O’Neil certainly knows her stuff. All that from one question. I pick up Travel Writing and stare at it admiringly.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’ asks Emily.
‘It’s a book about travel writing.’
‘Oh, right. I picked up this book in Malaysia,’ says Emily, reaching into her small rucksack. ‘It’s called The Memory Keeper’s Daughter.'
I instantly recognise the book that Emily is holding. It has received good reviews and was one of those that I picked up in Bookers the day previously but put back as it was too expensive.
‘I’ve heard of that. Are you enjoying it?’ I ask Emily.
‘Yes, it’s an easy read. I’ve just finished it. Here, you can have it if you want.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. Here.’
Emily hands me a very battered but free copy of The Memory Keeper’s’ Daughter’ by Kim Edwards.
‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ I say, addressing both Emily and the cosmos.
Except I didn’t. Here I was, half way through my gap year and opening the book for the first time. I scanned it for tips on what I should have been doing on my travels.
‘A travel writer must talk to strangers,’ advises Ms O’Neil. I look about and realise I’m surrounded by strangers. There’s a middle aged couple a few rows back who don’t look very happy with each other. I reckon that if I can get them talking to me all kinds of revelations could be made. A sort of Jeremy Kyle show on rails. Sadly, I don’t have the courage to approach them and opt for a maxim of my own – keep it simple. I turn to the girl next door –
‘Emily, what’s the most exciting thing that has happened to you on your travels?’
‘Gosh. That’s a tough question. Exciting? Well, as I have said I’m on my way home from Malaysia. On the way there the plane to Adelaide was delayed by 4 hours. It was late when I got to the airport and as my flight was very early the next morning I thought I’d sleep at the airport. I’d got settled when the security guard approached and said the airport closed at 11pm and I had to leave.’
‘Right,’ I say, not quite sure where this was going.
‘There was another woman there, so I told her what was happening. There was one last shuttle bus into Adelaide if we were quick,’ continued Emily. ‘She said she was on the same plane as me but she didn’t have any money. I told her it was on me and we got ourselves into Adelaide, found a hostel and shared a room for the night.’
‘Which you paid for?’
‘Yes. Eighty dollars. I was ripped off but didn’t have a choice. Then things got worse.’
‘What happened?’ I was getting engrossed in Emily’s story.
‘The woman set the alarm on her phone, but it didn’t go off. We woke up with just 25 minutes to spare until my plane took off.’
Good grief! Dan Brown would be pleased with the tension Emily is building up.
‘We got dressed quickly, found a taxi and told him to step on it. “No worries,” he said and then proceeded to keep well under the speed limit.
‘We arrived at the airport just as the plane was boarding. Only, it wasn’t my plane. The woman was on that plane but I’d made a mistake. Mine didn’t leave for another 45 minutes.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, a tad disappointed with this ending.
‘When I got to Malaysia I was supposed to meet my friend, Jenny, but she didn’t turn up to meet me.’
This is more like it. We’re off again.
‘I waited for an hour but there was no sign of her. Jenny had made all the arrangements for our stay in Malaysia. Without her I didn’t know what to do.’
‘My goodness. What happened?’
‘I went to the hostel Jenny was staying at, but she had checked out! The receptionist searched for her but Jenny had left.’
‘So, you’re stuck in Malaysia with no idea where your friend is and where you are meant to go next?’
‘Exactly. But the receptionist did find Jenny’s lap top. I knew that she would come back for it so I waited. Sure enough, about an hour later Jenny turned up at the hostel. She had got my arrival time wrong. We must have just missed each other at the airport’
‘Wow. That’s some story,’ I say appreciatively.
L Peat O’Neil certainly knows her stuff. All that from one question. I pick up Travel Writing and stare at it admiringly.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’ asks Emily.
‘It’s a book about travel writing.’
‘Oh, right. I picked up this book in Malaysia,’ says Emily, reaching into her small rucksack. ‘It’s called The Memory Keeper’s Daughter.'
I instantly recognise the book that Emily is holding. It has received good reviews and was one of those that I picked up in Bookers the day previously but put back as it was too expensive.
‘I’ve heard of that. Are you enjoying it?’ I ask Emily.
‘Yes, it’s an easy read. I’ve just finished it. Here, you can have it if you want.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. Here.’
Emily hands me a very battered but free copy of The Memory Keeper’s’ Daughter’ by Kim Edwards.
‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ I say, addressing both Emily and the cosmos.
great story...
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